Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Scar Story

The One Minute Writer gave this as her topic today. Tell the story of one of your scars.

I have a few, but I'll share the story of the scar I have on the bottom of my chin. There are many of you who have known me for years and years and have probably never noticed the big scar on my face. Thank you modern medicine!

Once upon a time, back in the day, long ago and far away, I lived as a cheerleader. Yes, indeed, me who hates to be noticed in any way, was in fact a cheerleader in high school.

It slips my mind now if I was a freshman or a sophomore, but I do know I was on the JV football cheer squad. In those years, it mattered. It was a big deal to be on any football cheer squad.

Our uniforms were white wool sweaters and the requisite short skirt. White.

Way back then, cheer leading was just starting to get exciting. These were the years that high schools, at least here in the North, were just learning to do bigger stunts like basket tosses. There is a division when you cheer, you are either little and a fly-er, or solid and a base.

In those days, I was very tiny, under 5 feet tall and less than 100 lbs. Thinking back, how I wish I had known then how great that was! I would have enjoyed it way more. Now, I'm just under 5 feet and we won't talk about my weight, especially in the holiday winter hibernating season. Let's just admit that all those hot cocoa marshmallows add up. Anyway, being little meant that I was a fly-er.

I was the girl that went to the top of the mounts. I was the girl that flew through the air.

In short it also meant I was the girl that went splat.

It was a big home game. I have no idea now who we were playing or if we won or lost, but I do remember that there were a lot of people there. A LOT of people. Remember that part where I said how much I didn't like to be the center of attention??

So, it's foot ball, there was some big play happening on the field and we decided to to a stunt. We lined up and the fly-ers went up. I was standing on another girls thighs, leaning forward with my arms up over my head. She was in a sort of squat position and holding my shins. Weight and balance keeping the whole thing from falling over, or at least for a short while.

Somehow we lost our groove and I pitched forward. It all happened way to fast and she wasn't able to let go fast enough. That meant I hit the track full force with my face.

Let's just agree that it wasn't pretty and definitely called attention to me.

So I came around, covered in blood and not opening my mouth real well. I was such a teenage cheer leader girl that my main concern was not getting blood on my white wool sweater. I didn't want to have to pay for the uniform.

I believe that it must have been something to see, this little accident of mine, but I don't really remember. Perhaps, I wasn't making much sense. I do know that there were a lot of people really excited by what was going on.

So excited in fact, that they brought out the team golf cart to take me off the field. Then the packed me into the coaches car and took me to the ER. We were new to the city, my dad was traveling and someone else went and got my mom and brought her to the hospital.

My memories are a bit sketchy, but I really recall being worried about that white wool. I knew I would need stitches on my chin--the blood was a give away. The bigger issue was that I still really couldn't open and shut my mouth properly.

This is where past life experience makes a person mental. Just a few years before I had broken my jaw in another freak accident and so this time around, I was certain that it was not broken again. That sort of thing couldn't be happening. I was certain that it was dislocated and I had a nice argument with the ER doc stating just that. I insisted that it was dislocated, he should put in my stitches, pop the joint back in and let me out of the hospital.

Well, over the next day or two I had surgery to put the whole thing back together. Then I learned how to live with my jaw wired shut for weeks and weeks. Next I went back to school. For weeks and weeks, maybe even a year, I was known as that girl that went off the field on the team cart.

Great way to make an impression in high school.

And that is a short version of how I got my scar.

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